


Breathe Me

by pidgeotto_gunderson



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Bilingual Lance (Voltron), Blind Character, Blind Lance (Voltron), Crying, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Fire Powers, First Kiss, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, Ice Powers, Im trying here, Keith and Shiro are Adoptive Siblings, Korean Keith (Voltron), M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Finale, Swearing, Wormhole Incident, broganes ayeee, characters and tags to be added, i plan on getting into keith's backstory, idk man, injuries, lance is a crier, oh that's an actual tag okay cool, probably, temporarily blind i suppose, the other characters are kinda just mentioned at this point, they're lost on a planet together haha, we're pretending they actually know how to use their powers and stuff lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-09-07 14:22:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8804287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pidgeotto_gunderson/pseuds/pidgeotto_gunderson
Summary: There's never air to breathe 
  
   There's never in-betweens 
  
   These nightmares always hang on past the dream 
        After the Wormhole Incident, Keith and Lance crash-land on the same planet, and, well, that goes about as well as you'd think.[ON INDEFINITE HIATUS. COULD POSSIBLY BE FINISHED SOMEWHERE DOWN THE LINE, BUT IS CURRENTLY, FOR ALL INTENTS AND PURPOSES, ABANDONED SORRY]





	1. Chapter 1

Flames flicker in Keith’s palm, dancing along his fingertips in flashes of red and orange. Heat races through his veins, his pulse jumping, his heart rate skipping beats here and there. Something is crawling under his skin, anxiety boiling in his blood, moving, shifting, rising, burning into a white hot fear.

 

He suppresses the panic, clamps down on it and shoves it down, down, down as far as it’ll go. Focuses on breathing in and out, on keeping the flame steady in his hand. Keith grits his teeth and shifts his armor off his torso, stifling a yelp as a spike of pain shoots through his side. He holds the flame as far away from the wound on his side as possible, biting down on his bottom lip.

 

The air is frigid and suffocating in Red’s cockpit. Keith’s lion slowly began to shut down a while back, even the communication between him and Red cutting off eventually. No light, no engine, no air circulation, nothing. He knows he only has a few more minutes before the oxygen levels drop too low for him to breathe, a half hour, tops.

 

Keith squeezes his eyes shut, allowing himself fifteen seconds to get his bearings, then opens them again. His free hand slips under his clothes and probes his side, fingertips pressing into raw skin. The smell of burned flesh and singed hair still fills the cockpit. Keith learned the hard way that he's not immune, or even all that resistant to fire, at least not when it's his own flames. He’s managed to get his powers mostly under control now, but not before scorching practically all the way down to his ribs.

 

There's also the fact that his left ear has gone deaf and his right ankle feels decidedly broken. And there's going to be no oxygen in a matter of minutes.

 

Breathing hurts, so Keith takes shallow, ragged puffs of air. His helmet is somehow across the room, so he touches the comm on his wrist and hopes.

 

It lights up.

 

Keith lets out a sigh of relief, tapping quickly on the screen. “Hello?” he rasps out, holding the comm to his mouth. “Can anyone hear me? Shiro? Allura?”

 

Nothing. Keith drags himself backward, hissing around the pain, and leans against the wall. “Is anyone there? Ow, fuck -”

 

The comm crackles softly.

 

“Christ - Shiro? Allura, Coran? Is someone - Lance? Pidge? Hunk? Fuck, come on -”

 

There’s a small cough on the other end of the comm. Jumbled words float through the static. _“-ith? Is -- you - ?”_

 

“ _Lance?”_

 

“ _Wh- -- Kei- -- are -- -kay?_ ”

 

Keith squints at the device on his wrist, filling in the blanks in Lance’s words. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he lies smoothly, ignoring how his chest heaves. “What about you - are you okay? Where are you?”

 

“ _\-- don’t --  kinda --_ **_ow_ ** _! -- -uck. -_ ” Lance’s voice comes in between bursts of static, breaking into incomprehensible pieces.

 

“What? Lance, you -” Keith coughs, sending a jolt through his ribs. His half hour is dwindling, he knows. It’s a chore just to get air in his lungs; he can’t stand on his ankle, and the fear is bubbling up again, threatening to boil over. He runs his free hand through his hair, digs his fingernails into his palm. “Lance, I - I can’t hear you.”

 

There’s only crackling on the other end.

 

Keith resists the urge to run through his entire supply of curse words, opting instead for holding his flame out in front of him and doing his best to drag himself toward the door.

 

The comm cuts in and out, going silent for a few seconds at a time, then sputtering softly. Keith slowly, carefully shifts up on his knees, grabs his jacket from the back of the pilot seat. Even with the fire, it’s still too dark to see much, so he feels around with his free hand as he goes, blindly shoving anything he touches aside. The pain is dizzying, agonizing, in his ribs, his ankle, and then in his hand when he puts it down directly on a shard of glass. He hisses again, sucking air through his teeth, and pushes forward with his eyes burning.

 

He’s halfway to the door when Lance’s voice drifts up to Keith’s one functional ear again. “ _Keith -- -n’t move - see -”._ Other noises come through the comm, sounds of struggle - then there’s a crash and Keith stops in his tracks.

 

Keith watches the flames sputter in his hand, his focus slipping. “Lance? What’s happening, where the hell are you?”

Wheezing slightly, he somehow manages to crawl to the door, his entire body dully aching with every movement. He wants to pass out, just lay down and sleep off the wooziness, and maybe - maybe he will. Maybe he’ll just…

 

“ _\-- Keith? -- there? -- shit --”_

 

“M’here.” His words are slurring. Keith blinks hard, his vision going blurry for a moment. “Can you hear me?” Keith asks his wrist - the comm on his wrist, right - that’s - fuck, he’s losing it.

 

“ _\-- -ear you --”_

 

Keith takes that for a yes, shifts around and kicks the cockpit door open with his good foot.

 

He practically falls out the door, and thank _fuck_ , this planet has oxygen.

 

Air - actual, beautiful, precious _air_ \- fills his lungs, and okay, he’s alive, he’s still alive and breathing and distinctly _not dead_ and -

 

“Oh my god.”

 

“ _Wh- -- what’s wrong?”_

 

Everything is gray. The ground, the sky, even the air itself is a shimmery silver. Glitter-like dust flutters around, clings to Keith’s sweat-covered shirt, lands in his hair. Keith lets the flame in his hand die out, pushing himself up to his knees again. His hands slide through thin, fibery strands of something like grass - it’s clear and plasticy and it doesn’t come out of the ground when Keith tugs on it. It’s cold and silent and the air tastes metallic and the entire planet looks like magic.

 

Keith watches the glitter-dust rain down in front of him and wants to stay here forever.

 

“ _Keith?”_

 

There's fear and pain laced in Lance’s shaky voice, and it yanks Keith back to reality. He can hear Lance a little better now, the static having quieted slightly, making the panic that much easier to catch. “I'm here,” Keith says again, no longer slurred.

 

“Lance,” Keith starts, pauses, takes a breath, composes himself. “Lance, I need you to tell me if you're hurt.” He tries to stay as calm as he can, or at least _sound_ as calm as he can, for Lance’s sake as much as his own. “I need you to - to just take a second and assess the situation here. Check for injuries and relay it back to me, okay?”

 

There's a choked noise and then a crackly, “ _G-got it.”_

 

And Keith does the same. He's been running on adrenaline and sheer willpower this whole time, and that's finally running out. The pain hits full-force now, with nothing to block it out anymore, and Keith bites back a whimper.

 

He's starting to notice the throbbing in his nose, the overall ache in his bones. Raising his fingers to his face, he feels the blood dripping from his nose and adds that to his ever-growing list of sufferings.

 

“ _I_ _think --”_ Keith forces himself to tune back into the real world as Lance starts talking again. “ _\-- hit my head. And dislo- -- shoulder. My arm is --”_ Another ragged noise. “ _\-- arm is stuck. It's stuck -- hurts and -- feel blood, Keith, and -- can't see -- I can't -- Keith -”_

 

Keith says, “Lance,” then firmer, “Lance, calm down. There's no point in panicking, alright? Is Blue still running? Can you reach the controls?”

 

“ _No,_ ” Lance responds. _“Blue -- iffy, I -- know if it -- work -- can’t reach -- anyway._ ”

 

“Okay,” Keith murmurs to himself. “That’s okay, I’ll - I’ve got this. It’ll be fine. It’s -- think, Keith, what now?”

 

_“-- the fuck -- ?”_

 

Keith ignores Lance for the moment, steels himself, and pushes to his feet. Everything wobbles, his knees going weak. Gray blends with black, mixes with green, tinges red around the edges, and Keith stumbles, everything spinning around him. He doubles over, hands on his knees, and heaves.

  
His stomach twists and bile burns the back of his throat. He groans, forces himself to swallow. Regains his footing, drops to the ground again, and doesn't bother getting up his time. “Lance,” he says, somehow managing to keep his voice level. “Is there any way for you to reach the controls?”

 

Lance sucks in a breath on the other end, and it sounds like he’s holding back tears. “ _I don’t --”_ he starts, voice trembling, pauses. Then, with his voice steadier, says, “ _\-- no way.”_

 

Keith bites his lip, frowning. There's no way he can find Lance, not without Lance turning on his location in Blue. He doesn't know what planet he's on, doesn't even know for sure if Lance is on the same planet. He assumes so, what with Lance being the only person he can reach. Besides, the sheer possibility that Lance’s lion crashed anywhere near him is the one thing keeping him grounded.

 

He slowly slides his chestplate off his shoulders, then carefully, painstakingly strips out of his shirt. Glances down at the burn on his side and nearly throws up again.

 

His flesh is burnt to a crisp, blackened and mottled with red. There’s practically a hole in his stomach (and a hole in his chest, where his heart should be), and Keith looks up, hands shaking, fingers twitching, and prays to a god he’s never believed in (aliens, sure. God? not so much).

 

Something like desperation coils around his brain, a feeling akin to fear coursing through his veins. He counts his fingers, once, twice, three times, recites the alphabet forwards, then backwards, whispering, all in English, then switches to Korean, rinses and repeats.

 

Lance cries out on the comm, and Keith's fingernails bite into his palm again. “Listen, Lance, you’re gonna need to help me help you, alright? I can't find you if I don't know where to look.”

 

Lance says, _“I **can't** ,” _ and it sounds like a sob.

 

Keith's palms are slick with blood, both from his nose and from where his nails cut his skin. “ _Figure something out_ ,” he grinds out, unclips his utility belt (“fanny pack,” he hears in his head, and the laughter sounds suspiciously like Lance). After a year in the desert and way too many near-death experiences, he's learned to keep basic first-aid supplies on him at all times.

 

There's a roll of gauze, a sewing needle and thread, and a handful of disinfectant wipes in one of the pouches, an X-ACTO knife, an Ace bandage, a pair of tweezers in another. He doesn't bother with the wipes (infection is the last thing on his mind, and anyway, do burns even get infected? He's pretty sure they don't. Like 70%), just pulls out the gauze and begins wrapping it around his waist. He's not sure how much this will actually do for the burn, but his ribs feel somehow out of place too, and anyway, he's improvising. His fingers repeatedly fumble with the wrappings, but he manages.

 

This is something he can do, this is something he _knows_. Get injured, patch yourself up. Simple. Methodical.

 

He finishes with his stomach, takes out the Ace bandage, and leans forward. Keith hears Lance in his ear again, vaguely catches the words, but pushes them to the back of his mind, prying his armor off only his right leg, wrapping the bandage around his ankle. He can't be bothered to take the rest of his armor off. He twists it so that his heel is exposed, pulls it around the arch of his foot, clasps it, and finally forces himself to stand on his own two feet.

 

Or really, he leans all his weight on his good leg and pretends the other doesn't hurt.

 

As soon as he relearns how to breathe, Keith is trying to catch up on whatever Lance is saying.

 

“ _Keith -- don't know -- you expect -- Blue’s not talking -- can't feel -- blood, so much blood -- whoa, Keithy-boy, that's -- fuck, shit -- I can't -- Keith, please --”_

 

“Stop,” Keith snaps, pulling his shirt back over his head. “Listen to me, Lance. You're gonna be okay. You're going to be fine, okay? It's - I…I’m gonna find you and we'll both be fine.”

 

Lance sniffles. “ _How?”_

 

“I'm -” Keith sighs, rubs at his temples. “I'm working on it.”

 

_“Can you -- comm?”_

 

“What? Lance, I can't hear you.”

 

“ _You -- track my comm?”_

 

Keith stares up at the weirdly-shaped gray clouds in the weird-looking gray sky. “That's not -” He pauses, glances down at the comm, then up again. Looks back down, and says, “Huh.”

 

Tapping the screen, Keith pulls up the holo-projection and flips the top of the comm. He knows that Pidge made a few modifications to all of their communicators, but he's not really sure how to work them. There's a shit-ton of wires, but the only ones that stand out are the bigger, colored ones that match up with each of the paladin’s colors (along with pink for Allura and orange for Coran).

 

Keith squints at the wiring. He's not Pidge, or Hunk, or Coran, and he doesn't exactly know what any of this stuff does, but he splices the red and blue wires together because, well, it makes sense.

 

And it works, so there's that, too. A little blue circle blinks not too far away from the red dot on the hologram. It doesn't show the expanse of the planet, or what it looks like, or even an actual estimate of how far Lance is from Keith, but it gives Keith a general direction and that’s good enough for him.

 

It has to be enough.

 

(He'll have to thank Pidge when - _if_ \- he makes it out of this).

 

“Lance, “ Keith says, ties his jacket around his waist.

 

“ _Y-yeah?”_

 

“You're gonna be fine, got it?”

 

Lance sniffles again, and the next thing he says it clear as day. “ _P_ _romise?”_

 

He shouldn't. He can't promise anything, not here, not now. Not ever. Keith doesn't have anything left to give. He doesn't know what he's doing. .

 

And yet…

  
“Promise,” Keith says, and starts walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't have a posting schedule planned out, so. Since I'm on winter break right now, updates will probably come every 2 weeks or so, at least for the next couple chapters. Once school starts up again, posting might slow a little bit but I'm hoping to keep it between 2 and 3 weeks generally. Also sorry for any typos or mistakes or anything, I had my best friend 'proofread' it for me, but she's useless, so idk. (just kidding, I love her)
> 
> feedback is always appreciated <3


	2. Chapter 2

Keith finds the blue lion in a smoking crater about a two hour walk away from Red.

 

He's exhausted and irritated, and he went numb to the pain somewhere between his fifth time tripping over his own feet and his third time hurling. He left most of his dented armor with Red, but he's still got his bayard and Lance’s hoarse voice in his comm. Lance, despite being seriously injured _and_ trapped in a giant mechanical alien lion (which, thankfully, seems to at least have enough power to maintain stable conditions, seeing as the blue paladin is still breathing), has still managed to be annoying every step of the way. And Keith means that quite literally.

 

It's hard to inhale around the ache in his ribs, along with the weird air here, (now that he's started walking, he thinks at least one or two are broken, and something about the oxygen level is definitely off), and it's hard to exhale around the anxiety gripping his chest. But Lance is griping at him over the comm and Keith’ll be damned if he stops now.

 

Keith crouches down next to the crater, then promptly falls flat on his ass when his ankle gives out. Holding his breath, he leans over the edge, rubbing at his ankle as he does, and swallows hard. At least fifteen feet of rock stares back at him. He definitely can’t just jump down, and sliding is out of the picture, so he ends up swinging his legs over the edge and starting the climb down.

 

His fingers scrabble at the rocks and his legs barely hold him up. One of his hands still stings from cutting it, but he ignores it as best he can. Every time he moves, he stops to check for hand and footholds, and every time he tells himself not to look down, he automatically looks down, making him nauseous all over again. With each step, Keith thinks, _I can't do this_ , then keeps doing it.

 

He’s seeing red. Lance says, “ _Keith?”_ and he is having none of it.

 

“Lance, I swear to God, if you don't shut the fuck up -”

 

_“But - “_

 

“Would you, Lance McClain, like to live?”

 

_“I - yes? That's kinda -- point here.”_

 

The sound is much less distorted at close distance. Keith is _ever so grateful._

 

“Then shut up,” Keith says, his voice nowhere near as steady as he would've liked. “If I fall off this cliff because of you, you can be damn sure I'll be haunting your ass from beyond the grave.”

 

Lance barks a shaky laugh. “ _Oh, you've -- a thing for my ass -- Keith? Is that - wait, cliff?”_

 

“Yes.” Keith moves his good foot, tries to place it on a rock that juts out from the wall. It crumbles under his weight and then he's scrambling to find another foothold, barely managing to hold himself up. He curses loudly, pauses to get his bearings. “Goddammit - keep up, would you?”

 

_“What the hell are you doing?”_

 

“Saving your ass,” he shoots back. “That okay with you?”

 

 _“What_ ,” Lance says, pauses dramatically, “ _is with -- obsession with my ass?”_

 

“I will actually climb back up this cliff and leave you to bleed out.”

 

_“Okay, rude.”_

 

The only good thing is that Lance sounds a little steadier, even though his voice continues to grate on Keith’s nerves. He's never been much good at putting up with Lance for extended periods of time (it's nothing against him, it's just… okay, maybe it is a little, tiny thing against Lance, but it's really more of a Keith Thing. He's got a lot of those), and listening to him for two hours over the comm is no different (he never thought he’d be glad to be half-deaf). But if annoying Keith is the way Lance deals, then so be it.

 

Two-thirds of the way down the cliff. _Doing good so far_ , Keith thinks, and _immediately_ slips, losing his grip on the rocks and dropping the last five feet to the ground.

 

“ _Shit!”_ He lands sprawled on the ground, groaning in pain. Thankfully, he doesn't mess up his ankle any worse, but his ribs and his side scream in protest and the pain in his head is definitely new. “Fuck - ouch - goddammit.”

 

“ _Keith?”_

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Keith mutters, picking himself up and massaging the back of his head. He turns and -

 

“Fuck.”

 

_“What? Dude, what's wrong?”_

 

Blue looks _terrible._ She’s flipped on her side, dented and busted, and there’s an actual, albeit thin, cloud of smoke around her. Keith can hear the smallest hum coming from Blue as he moves closer, careful of the stray bits of metal strewn about, but it’s tinny and hollow.

 

Keith nearly faceplants trying to maneuver around the rocks and debris, circling around to the front of Blue. He lays a hand on her head as he goes, feeling for…something - a pulse, a hum of energy, _anything._ Keith has always felt some sort of connection to Blue, even though she’s not his lion, since he was the one who found her. Since he was back in his run-down shack in the desert, searching for something that couldn’t _possibly_ exist in a roundabout attempt to find what the Galra, what the _Garrison_ took from him. It feels like such a long time ago, now, here, with another human being’s life in Keith’s hands, with the weight of someone else’s well-being on Keith’s shoulders.

 

But there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, from Blue.

 

Although he can still feel Red, the fact that she’s barely there, the connection just a slight tug in his gut, was  already a shot through the heart. And now, with Blue, the gun reloads, cocks, and fires once more.

 

There’s a moment of hazy vision and queasiness, but Keith doesn’t let himself stop. He turns toward the door, and it’s - well, it’s not pretty. The door has caved in, curved sharply into the cockpit. Both fortunately and unfortunately, it’s still on its hinges.

 

Keith closes his eyes, gives himself ten seconds to get his bearings, then - “ _Keith?”_

 

“Jesus, Lance, what is it?”  


“ _It’s - you - you didn’t answer and -”_

 

“I’m _trying_ to figure out how to get you out of Blue,” Keith says, gritting his teeth and pushing on the door with his good hand. It doesn’t budge; Keith huffs, his breath whistling through his teeth, drops to the ground, scoots close to the door, and kicks it as hard as he can - which, granted, isn’t that hard in his state.

 

Thankfully, it still falls off the hinges. Lance makes a sharp noise that Keith hears both through the comm and directly from the source.

 

“Keith!” Lance shouts, voice full of relief. “Holy shit - thank God, Keith, buddy, I never thought I’d be this happy to see your stupid mullet.”

 

Halfway through the doorway, Keith pauses. “I could literally just leave right now and then where would you be?”

 

Lance just keeps talking over him. “I mean, I can’t actually _see_ you right now, but it’s the thought that counts, huh?” He gives a weak laugh. “At least I don’t have to look at your dumb hair and your ridiculous crop jacket, though -”  


“Do you _ever_ stop talking?” Keith cuts him off, crawling into the cockpit with a grunt and a shock that goes all the way from his still-pounding skull, through his ribs, and into his ankle. He blinks hard, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, decides against trying to walk again, opts instead to just move on his hands and knees toward the other boy.

 

“Don’t act like you don’t love the sound of my voice, Keithy-boy,” Lance says, and Keith is seriously considering just stabbing Lance and putting him out of his misery. Or, well, putting _himself_ out of his misery, really. That, however, would be a _huge_ waste of Keith’s time, so he makes his way carefully over to the other boy, saying, “Y’know, you definitely owe me for this one, Lance.”

 

Keith can hear Lance’s ragged breathing as he gets near, and he pats the floor as he goes, feeling around in front of him for Lance. “That’s fair,” Lance replies softly. It’s almost like he’s given up on trying to sound steady; his eyes fall shut and his voice trembles. Keith finds what he thinks is Lance’s ankle under his hand and shakes it lightly. “Hey. I just climbed down a cliff for you, _on a busted ankle._ Don't fall asleep, asshole.”

 

“M’not sleeping,” he says, eyelids fluttering.

 

“Good,” Keith says, and glances over to where Lance’s right arm is pinned under… pretty much the entire control panel, “because you’re gonna have to help me out here.”

 

“Aren’t _you_ supposed to be rescuing _me_ ?”  


Lance either doesn’t notice or doesn’t acknowledge Keith flipping him off. “Lance, just - I’m gonna try to lift this off your arm, I just need you to move your arm when I do, alright?”

 

“Mhm.”

 

Right, okay. He’s doing this. Keith shifts, folding his legs underneath him, and slips his fingers under the panel. Tries not to focus on the pool of what he’s pretending isn’t blood on the floor. “Ready?” Lance nods and Keith says, “On three. One…two…three!” Heart pounding in his chest, Keith lifts, elbows on the floor, adrenaline pumping in his veins. There’s a split second where Lance doesn’t move and Keith thinks he’s passed out, but then he slides his arm out and the control panel crashes to the floor.

 

Keith finally lets himself look at Lance, but only to give him a quick onceover, scanning for notable injuries. Aside from the arm, which is bent at a horribly unnatural angle and bleeding from at least four different cracks in his armor, nothing really jumps out at Keith, at least in the dim lighting, so he says, “Lance, can you stand?”

 

He groans softly, raises his head slightly. “Mm…sure.”

 

Keith runs a hand through his hair, says, “Good, okay. Let’s just -” He glances around, considering his options. This would be a whole lot easier if he could actually walk straight, or if he didn’t flinch every time his side brushed against literally anything, but, well. He’ll work with what he’s got.

 

Moving to grab Lance’s good arm, Keith struggles to his feet and drags Lance with him. Lance, who’s practically deadweight at this point, slumps against him; Keith nearly drops him right then and there, but swings Lance’s arm around his neck and somehow manages to balance on one leg _and_ hold the other boy up.

 

As the blue paladin, who is _oh, so heroic and graceful,_ drools all over Keith’s shoulder.

 

“Lance,” Keith says.

 

He doesn’t respond.

  
“ _Lance.”_

 

“Mm…”

 

Keith smacks the back of his head. “ _Lance!_ ”  


Lance’s head shoots up. “Wha - I’m up, Mamá, what’s happening -”

 

“What's _not_ happening is you _dying on my shoulder,_ McClain.”

 

“…Dyin’? Mamá., what are you talking about…?”

 

Keith huffs, pulling Lance toward the door. Lance stumbles along in a shitty attempt to help, whimpering into Keith’s jacket. Keith does his best not to put Lance in any more pain than he’s already in while simultaneously trying to pretend the paladin's blood isn’t staining his fingers.

 

Lance mumbles something that sounds vaguely like Keith’s name, then trails off into nonsense. Keith doesn’t bother trying to make out the words, especially seeing he’s pretty sure a lot of it isn’t even English. There’s bits of rapid fire Spanish mixed in with random babbling in English, and Keith _really_ hopes Lance isn’t having some kind of fever dream.

 

(To top it all off, Lance is hallucinating. Wouldn’t that be _great?_ )

 

It’s a whole lot of effort and hard work from Keith and a whole lot of groaning from Lance, but they make it out the door eventually. Keith practically drops him as soon as they’re over the threshold (Lance doesn’t seem to mind all that much, just curls up on the ground and continues his incessant muttering), and then he collapses, too, chest (and pretty much everything else) burning.

 

For a second, he’s back in the castleship (castle? ship? castleship), back in his shack in the desert, back at the Garrison, and he almost longs for it, almost wishes he could just go back to before all of this, before he even started his search for the Blue Lion, before Shiro was even sent off to Kerberos. But then Lance moans from a couple feet away and Keith blinks back into the here and now.

 

Aliens may exist, but time travel doesn’t. There’s no point in dwelling on the past when there’s actual problems to be dealt with in the present. When someone else’s future is in his completely incapable hands.

 

“Hey,” Keith says softly, and sits up, despite every bone in his body screaming in protest. “Lance. Wake up.” He forces himself to scoot back over to Lance, the adrenaline dissipating, and kick his ankle.

 

“Huh - what -” Lance sits up quickly, then gives an awful, pained cry. Keith unclips his belt, dumps the contents, and puts a firm hand on Lance’s left shoulder, which is somehow disconnected from his collarbone, to keep him still. He pulls Lance’s cracked helmet off, and his fingers fumble with the boy’s chestplate, prying it off his sticky torso. Lance clenches his fist, but Keith gives him no time to be nervous, just pops his shoulder right back into place, hard and fast. Lance bites down, hard, on his bottom lip, but doesn’t cry out. His fingers are slick with blood, which smears on Lance’s armor. “Don’t move,” Keith commands.

 

Lance blinks in his direction, but his eyes are glassy and his gaze is unfocused. His brow furrows and his mouth falls open. “I…Keith…?”

 

“Yeah, I’m here.” Keith grabs the gauze and moves to Lance’s right side. Lance stops fidgeting, his face pale and green at the same time, and says, “W-why’s it so dark?”  


Keith’s hands still for just a second before he gets back to trying to figure out how to fix Lance’s arm. “It’s not that dark?”

 

Lance says, “Keith, it’s - it’s pitch black, what are you -”  


 

“It’s literally not.”

 

“The hell are you -”

 

“I can see just fine, Lance. I can see you, and I have no idea what you’re on about. Also, you’re bleeding all over everything, so if you would please stop moving, that would be great.”

 

“But -” Lance rubs at his eyes with his good hand, blinks again, hard, once, twice, but they remain vacant. “Keith. Keith, I swear to God, if you’re fucking with me -”  


 

“Why the _fuck_ would I -”  


 

“Because you’re _Keith_ -”

 

“Lance,” Keith snaps, “ _stop talking_ .”  


 

Lance does, his gaze locked somewhere just above Keith’s shoulder. Keith unrolls the gauze, touches his definitely-broken arm, watches Lance wince. Keith thanks the stars that he knows how to set a broken bone (he’s broken a couple bones of his own, and, during his year in the desert, had to set them himself).

 

He wipes the sweat off his forehead, and says, “So…ever had any broken bones before?”  


 

Lance’s face pales even more. “I, uh, broke my wrist in the fifth grade. Since then, just a couple of fingers. And my nose, one time.”

 

 

“Great, so you know how it goes, then.”  


 

“I…know how the numbing shots they give you at the hospital feel.”

 

“Right, good enough,” Keith mutters, and lays two fingers on Lance’s shoulder. Lance starts to say something, but Keith shushes him, trailing his fingers down his arm, pressing into the skin every inch or so. Lance flinches every time he does. Keith finds the break just above the elbow, and Lance practically screams.

 

“Sorry, sorry,” Keith says, but doesn’t move his hand, rather places his other hand just _below_ Lance’s elbow, takes a deep breath, and adds, “On three, okay?”

 

“I - wait -”

 

“One…two…” And he pushes the bone back into place as best he can, popping Lance’s elbow into an abjectly less nauseating position. Lance actually does scream this time, his fingers finding their way to Keith’s shirt, scrabbling at his shoulder, fingernails digging deep into his skin. Tears well up in Lance’s eyes and his face goes bright red; he swears loudly through clenched teeth in both English and Spanish.

 

Keith stays calm and collected as he tears the plastic off of a couple disinfectant wipes and wipes carefully and quickly at the bloodied flesh. Lance’s eyes squeeze shut and his face scrunches up tight. Keith pauses somewhere between disinfecting and wrapping the gauze around Lance’s arm and says, “You doing okay?”

 

There are tear tracks along Lance’s cheeks. He sniffs and his fingers press harder into Keith’s collarbone. “ _P-peachy_.”

 

Keith starts at Lance’s shoulder and winds the gauze around and around down his arm. He makes it nice and tight, especially at his elbow (he tries not to notice the fact that Lance looks like he’s going to throw up), gets all the way to his wrist and rips the end of the gauze with his teeth. He unties his jacket from his waist, swaddles Lance’s arm in it, and wraps the sleeves around his neck. It’s a shitty, haphazard sling, and it’s most likely not helping as much as Keith wishes it would, but he ties the sleeves of his jacket as tight as possible and pulls back, saying, “That’s the best I can do for now.”

 

Lance’s words slur when he says, “That’s nice,” and he pats along the ground, seemingly in search of Keith. Keith shifts slightly so that Lance’s hand finds his knee. His eyebrows knit together; he waves a hand in front of Lance’s face and says, “Lance, you can’t - you really can’t see me?”

 

“Yeah, nope,” Lance grinds out.

 

Keith rubs distractedly at his ankle. “That - that’s fan-fucking-tastic.”

 

He stands slowly, making sure to keep a hand on Lance at all times. Despite Lance’s head  following Keith up, his eyes don’t, and Keith takes his good hand, pulls the boy up with him, Lance tripping over his feet a little as he goes. Keith starts to let go of the other boy’s hand, but Lance tightens his fingers around Keith’s, a look of panic flashing across his face. “Don’t,” he says frantically. “Just - don’t.”

 

Keith just looks at him for a moment. “…Okay. Yeah, okay, Lance.”

 

Lance laces his fingers between Keith’s.

 

Keith can feel his hand shake.

 

He doesn’t mention it.

  
Neither does Lance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a few days earlier than planned, ayeeee. It's so fun to write these two's dynamic and make fun of Keith's horrendous mullet lmao. The 80's called and they don't even want that hairstyle back (jk I love the mullet). Dunno how I feel about the ending of this chapter, but whatever. Hopefully later chapters will be longer, but apparently the chapters end where they want to and the word count doesn't appreciate my criticism, so. 
> 
> Comments, kudos, con-crit always appreciated, and since the next chapter won't be up until after the holidays (possibly before New Years, possibly after, haha who knows), happy holidays, readers! <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk why the formatting behaves the way it does, but i can not foR THE LIFE OF ME make the space between paragraphs stay even throughout the whole chapter

They end up walking - not aimlessly, per say, but certainly without a specific destination in mind **.** They can’t stay in Blue, and they definitely can’t go back to Red, so they make the grueling climb out of the crater (which is near impossible and takes a good hour). Once they reach the top, Keith limps along with Lance in tow towards who-knows-what, picking a random direction and running with it, the vague prospects of shelter or water or food or _something_ pushing him forward.

 

Keith barely even feels the throbbing in his ankle, nor the pangs in his ribs. What he does feel, however, is Lance’s sweaty palm pressed against his, a constant reminder of who he’s stuck on this goddamn planet with.

 

Lance sticks dangerously close to Keith (dangerous for reason of potentially provoking homicide), but Keith, just this once, lets it slide. Lance assures him early on that he just wants to know Keith is still here, because he’s ‘ _completely and totally blind, did you know? It’s not fun, Keith. Also, I’m starting to think my entire life is just one cosmic joke_ ’ (Keith has to resist the urge to inform Lance that _he’s_ a cosmic joke at that one).

 

For the first hour or so, or what Keith figures is an hour **,** Lance keeps up his steady stream of chatter, talking _at_ Keith more than _to_ him in an almost compulsive way. Like his nerves just manifest by way of word vomit. Keith wishes more than ever that he had an off-switch (honestly, how much random bullshit can one person have to say?). But by the time it hits the presumed two-hour-mark, they’ve found nothing but more gray and Lance seems to have finally run out of steam.

 

Keith knows, now, a plethora of useless facts about Lance’s family, and about Lance’s hometown, and about motherfucking _Star Wars_ , because apparently Lance _really loves_ Star Wars _._

 

Plus, according to Lance, ‘ _never having seen Star Wars is, like, sacrilege, dude. Did you not have access to literally anything as a kid_?’ Keith didn’t respond to that one.

 

Lance, who’s still in Keith’s personal space, says, “Hey, Keith.”

 

Keith suppresses an eye roll. “Yes, Lance?”

 

“Wanna hear a joke?”

 

“Are you going to tell it even if I say no?”

 

“…Yes.”

 

A sigh. “Sure, whatever.”

 

Keith doesn’t even have to look at Lance to know he’s grinning.

 

“Knock, knock.”

 

“Who’s there?”

 

“A broken pencil.”

 

“…A broken pencil, who?”

 

  
“Never mind, it’s pointless.”

 

Lance starts snickering and Keith is going to lose his mind. It’s only been a couple hours, and he’s already prepared to leave Lance alone on this stupid planet. “Ha ha,” Keith deadpans, and Lance’s vice-like grip on his hand loosens slightly.

 

Lance’s laughter dies out and Keith thinks he’s got peace and quiet at last, but it’s only about five minutes before Lance says, “Hey, Keith,” yet again.

 

“What.”

 

“Have you actually considered the fact that we’re stuck on a seemingly-uninhabited planet together, both of us are pretty badly injured, and only one of us can even see where he’s going? Because I’ve been considering it, and it’s not going very well.”

 

Keith is silent for a moment, then replies, “Well, if I hadn’t been before, I’m definitely considering it now.”

 

“I just - maybe we should stop for a minute? Just to figure out an actual game plan?” Lance says carefully, steps slowing a bit.

 

“We need to keep moving, Lance.”

 

" _Why?_ I mean, we don’t even know we’re looking for, I’m a bit woozy from the _blood loss,_ and _you’re limping._ ”

 

Keith automatically tries not to favor his bad leg, which only causes him to stumble and Lance to stumble into Keith. The words ‘ _I_ _’m fine_ ’ die on his lips. He can practically feel Lance’s smugness.

 

He glances at Lance, stopped about a half-step behind him, allows himself a minute to fully take in the glassy eyes and the blood stains and the despondent expression. Lance stares in his general direction, cheeks flushed, whether from pain or exertion, Keith doesn’t know.

 

“I…fine. We can take a break,” Keith relents, and Lance actually _whoops._ “Just a few minutes,” he adds quickly, but Lance is already dragging him to the ground, sitting cross-legged and finally releasing Keith’s hand.

 

Stretching his legs out, Keith uses the bottom of his shirt to scrub some of the dried blood off his nose. His shirt brushes against the burn on his side, which still hurts even over the bandages, and he’s suddenly glad Lance isn’t able to see him wince. Keith pulls his bad leg in, picking at the bandage on his ankle.

 

When Keith looks over, Lance has his eyes closed and his knees pulled to his chest, good arm wrapped around his legs and chin resting on his knees. The tip of his nose sparkles with glitter-dust. Keith is pretty sure he’s shaking.

 

Lance seems to sense Keith’s eyes on him and says, “I’m fine, Keith.”

 

“Right.”

 

“I _am_.”

 

“Yeah, and I’m the first Korean president of the United States.”

Lance almost - _almost_ \- laughs. Keith tucks his hair behind his ear, watches Lance raise his head towards Keith, watches his eyes go wide, watches him have a mini panic attack, watches the look of resignation cross over his face. Lance sighs. “Just let me have this one, man.”

 

Keith snorts softly, says, “Yeah, okay, Lance.” It’s quiet for a moment, then he asks, “What exactly…what happened to you, anyway? I mean, yeah, you crashed, but…”

 

“I don't really know, to be honest.” Lance’s voice is soft, subdued. It's off-putting. “I think I blacked out. I remember certain moments, but nothing substantial. One second, we were hurling into a wormhole, the next, Blue had shut down and I was pinned under the control panel.”

 

“What about your vision?” Keith shifts, biting down on a groan when his ribs object.

 

Lance shrugs. “No clue. Maybe it's that -” he sits up stick-straight and does a pretty spot-on impression of Coran - “‘see through your lion’s eyes’ bullshit, and since Blue is, ah…incapacitated at the moment, it's messing with my eyes.” He looks aggrieved on ‘incapacitated’.

 

“Red’s out of commission too, though,” Keith replies slowly, eyes narrowing in confusion. “So if that's the case, how come I can see perfectly?”

 

“Probably because me and Blue have a better bond,” Lance says haughtily, a ghost of a smile crossing his face. “This obviously makes me the best pilot on the team.”

 

Scoffing, Keith retorts, “How so? I’m pretty sure most good pilots can _see.”_

 

“You see, Keith, I bonded so hard with my lion that we’re practically one in the same.”

 

Keith blinks at him. “…That’s not -”

 

“Don’t.”

 

“But -”

 

“Don’t ruin this for me, Keith.”

 

Keith smiles ruefully, leaves it at that. He holds a hand out, regards the way his skin shimmers, the way the foggy air seems to dissipate around his fingers. Every way he looks, it's just more gray. He wonders vaguely if this entire planet is just a metaphor for his life. “So, since you’ve been thinking about it, what _is_ the game plan?”

 

Head tipping back, Lance, his voice laced with sarcasm, says, “Dunno. I assumed the brilliant, _obviously-not-injured_ Keith Kogane would come up with something equally as brilliant as him.”

 

“All I’m hearing is you calling me brilliant, McClain.”

 

Lance sputters, spews something Keith doesn't quite catch. Keith feels the beginning of a smile tease at the corner of his mouth and quickly shuts it down, reminding himself that he’s stuck on a deserted planet with no idea of where he is or where he's going and one of the most annoying people he's ever met by his side **.** And fuck if that isn't depressing.

 

Keith’s ears are buzzing. Lance says, “So aside from whatever you're limping on - is that your ankle? -” Keith hums his assent - “Right, well, aside from that, are there any other potentially life-threatening injuries I should know about?”

 

His side aches. “A busted ankle isn't exactly life-threatening, Lance.”

 

“Not the point.”

 

Keith worries his bottom lip. He tastes blood. He mentally assesses his injuries - he can breathe, he can walk, he can _see,_ isn't that good enough? _-_ and decides not to worry Lance. “Nope. I got off pretty easy.”

 

Lance gives him a look like he's been personally slighted.

 

Or at least, gives the air near Keith’s shoulder a look.

 

He tried, at least.

 

 

 

They wander for another couple of hours, Lance’s slender fingers tangled in Keith’s sleeve and Keith wincing with every step. Lance is quieter this time around, aside from the occasional mumbling in Spanish, the same few words over and over. And Keith’s name, every ten minutes or so, a question mark tacked on the end, despite having Keith’s shirt gripped in his hand. It’s already annoying by the third time, irritating by the fifth, and downright infuriating by the eighth. Keith’s _‘I’m here_ ’ gains more and more bite with each reply.

 

Keith can’t see the sun through the fog, but it’s definitely getting darker. The gray is fading, and it’s fading fast. Lance’s side is pressed up against Keith’s, his feet stuttering against the ground. When Lance trips over God-knows-what for the God-knows-which time, Keith jerks to a stop.

 

“What’s wrong?” There’s worry buried under the curiosity in Lance’s voice.

 

“Nothing, nothing,” Keith assures him, absently glancing around the area. He hates that he can’t see more than maybe twenty feet ahead (but at least he can see), and there’s no telling what might _appear_ out of the fog. “Just…maybe we should -” He steps away from Lance, who makes a sharp noise, good hand searching for Keith. He turns in a quick circle, squinting hard, then grabs Lance’s wrist and says, “It’s getting dark out.”

“Oh, _really_?”

 

Keith ignores this. “We should probably camp out for the night. You look exhausted.” It’s not a lie.

 

“That, Keith,” Lance says, “could probably be attributed to both the blood loss and the fact that we’ve been walking towards absolutely nothing for the past, like, _four hours."_

 

Four hours. Has it really been that long? Time is blurring through the haze of pain and exhaustion, Keith’s whole being aching with each second that passes. “Right, well…You should get some sleep. We can figure out what to do next tomorrow. Or, ah, whenever you wake up.”

 

“And what about you?” The edge in Lance’s words throws Keith off.

 

“I’m fine,” Keith says, dropping Lance’s wrist and sitting down carefully, so as not to upset his various injuries. “Someone should probably keep watch and it’s obviously not going to be you. Anyway, I don’t really sleep much as is.”

 

He throws the information out there offhand; it’s true, he’s been a bit of an insomniac for years now, and it’s really not a big deal. But Lance takes it and counters with, “Wouldn’t that just mean that you should get _more_ sleep? I can’t actually check to be sure right now, but I’m sure you still have those Gucci eye-bags going on.”

 

 _The fuck is a Gucci?_ Keith thinks, decides against voicing his confusion. “You’re the one whining about blood loss, Lance.”

 

“ _Whining?_ Ex _cuse_ me, I do not _whine,_ thank you very much,” Lance says indignantly, his voice rising higher and higher as he does.

 

“You’ve been whining for the last _four hours_ , Lance,” he snipes, just because he can.

 

“Fuck you, Keith.”

 

Keith shoots back, “In your dreams,” and finds himself smiling at Lance’s affronted squawk.

 

Lance eventually stretches out on the ground near Keith, and, as soon as he’s comfortable, yawns widely. “Well, _one of us_ needs his beauty sleep.”

 

“That could be taken as an insult or a complement, you know.”

 

Lance makes a slightly askewed attempt to flip him off, gives a muffled _hmph_ , says, “G’night, Keith.”

 

“Night,” Keith says absently, pushing his hair off his forehead. Now that he’s stopped moving, he can pinpoint each and every spot that the pain emanates from. He still can’t bend at the waist, his side and ribs very unappreciative of the movement.

 

Pulling the bottom of his shirt up, Keith slowly, nervously peels the end of the gauze on his stomach up and begins unwrapping the layers. By the second-to-last layer, there’s dark red spots and the smell of charred flesh, yet again, mixed with the metallic scent of blood. Keith suppresses the urge to vomit once more, an acidic taste rising in his throat. There’s not even anything substantial to throw up, just bile and his dignity, which was already…iffy.

 

He presses lightly at his ribs, trying to get an estimate of the damage. He’s not a doctor, though, and he really doesn’t know the difference between cracked and broken, let alone how to figure out which is which. Keith can’t even bring himself to look at the burn on his side, ghosting a finger over it and flinching. His finger comes up blackened with soot, a slight red tinge in the coloring.

 

A knowledge of basic first aid doesn’t exactly prepare people for these situations, so Keith settles for replacing the gauze and pretending he doesn’t feel like he was run over by a eighteen-wheeler.

 

It’s cold. A brisk, November sort of cold. Keith wishes he had his jacket, wishes he was back in the warmth of the desert (well, maybe not. It was a little more than _warm_ in the desert).

 

He shivers, less from the cold and more from the now overwhelming feeling of being _lost._ It’s only hitting him just now, how completely and utterly screwed he - _they_ \- are.

 

Maybe this will only be for the night. Maybe the comms will miraculously be up by morning, maybe they’ll be rescued by tomorrow evening.

 

Or maybe -

 

“Stop,” Keith mutters to himself. He’s not going down this rabbithole, not now. He can hear Shiro’s voice in his head: _Patience yields focus, Keith. You can do this._ He almost scoffs at the advice Shiro gave him what feels like so long ago.

Keith rubs his eyes blearily. Lance says once more, from a few feet away, “Hey, Keith?”

He sighs, but it’s less exasperated this time. “Yeah, Lance?”

“You really should get some sleep.”

 

“Oh, thanks, _mom_.”

 

“I - God, Keith, would you just -” Lance makes a frustrated noise. “Do I have to spell it out?”

 

“That might be helpful, yes.”

 

Lance props himself on his elbow, turned toward Keith. His vacant gaze doesn't quite match up with his tired manner. “You're obviously tired, we need to be well-rested for whatever the hell we’re doing tomorrow, and, to be honest, I’m kind of freaking out because I _can't see._ So if you would just - just come here and go the fuck to sleep, that'd be great.”

 

Keith stares. Lance adds, almost embarrassedly, “Also, I’m cold.”

 

“Um…” Keith blinks. Opens his mouth, closes it again. Says, “Okay.”

 

Lance looks surprised for a second, but he schools his expression into one of nonchalance. Keith finds himself moving over to Lance, laying with a few inches between them. Lance lowers back to the ground, his left hand searching for Keith’s right.

 

They stay like this. Keith hears Lance’s breathing eventually steady, soft and rhythmic, but he doesn't close his eyes. Lance’s palm is cool against Keith’s, but something about the positioning as a whole has Keith feeling warm. It’s a comfortable sort of warmth that spreads all the way down to his toes, making him squirm.

 

He lets the feeling wash over him, slotting his fingers between Lance’s. Keith feels himself drifting and allows it to happen, allows himself to succumb to fatigue, to the coziness that’s dragging him down.

 

Keith drifts off with gray skies painted on the backs of his eyelids and Lance’s name resting on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooh boy, it's done. and ON TIME. honestly, i had a serious block when it came to this chapter, so i spent days not writing and then ended writing most of this chapter yesterday/today. i had my friend beta read this for me (thank you thank you to my bestie, ily) but i haven't personally gone back through this as of yet. i may or may not do some editing tomorrow or the day after or something (who knows lmao), but i wanted to get this up today (2 week mark, guess who's punctual). also i can't stand to look at it anymore, please get it out of my sight. 
> 
> aLSO THIS FIC IS UP TO 100 KUDOS AND I'M SCREAMING. THANK YOU SO MUCH GUYS, I LOVE YOU ALL 
> 
> kudos, comments, con-crit alwAYS APPRECIATED (i love reading y'all's comments, please boost my self-confidence, thank you)
> 
> UPDATE: i just made a VLD/klance [blog](https://pidgeotto-gunderson.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, will have any and all updates about the progress and potential updating schedule changes on there. hit me up if you wanna scream at/with me about klance or if you just wanna yell at me about this fic <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've stopped responding to individual comments because it's time-consuming and i'm really busy and i really don't know what to say other than thanks, so i'll just give a mass THANK YOU to everyone who commented or gave kudos and read this fic in general, so. thanks you, readers, i love you

_His life passes by in a blur, unwinding backwards, the scenes flicking in and out with only seconds between them. Some come and go faster than others, but each stays just long enough to be recognized._

 

_He's seventeen years old, with a half-conscious Shiro leaning on him, another boy around his age (Lance Lance Lance) saying something about the Garrison, something about a rescue._

 

_He's sixteen years old and the words ‘pilot error’ are ringing in his ears, his hands tugging at his own hair, rocking back and forth in his dorm room, which is just as messy as his life._

 

_Still sixteen, only just, sitting on a balcony with a boy who lives in his apartment complex. Passing a cigarette back and forth  at 2 AM, resting his legs in the other boy’s lap. Staring at the stars in both the sky and each other’s eyes._

 

_Fifteen years old, hair shorter, smile wider, finding out that he got into the Garrison. Shiro picking him up and spinning him around the living room of their shitty apartment, cheering and whooping: “My little brother’s gonna be the best pilot the Garrison’s ever seen!”_

 

_Skip to thirteen, all knobby knees and braces, trying to jump over a ditch because Shiro said he couldn’t. Waking up in a hospital room with a cast on his arm and Shiro holding his hand and trying not to laugh._

 

_All the way back to nine, bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked, grinning at Takashi (his brother, his amazing big brother), who ruffles his hair before going back to his history essay._

 

_Six, missing a front tooth, all alone, crying because he misses his mommy._

 

_Four years old and there's a fire. It's hot, so hot, and so bright, and his stuffed bear is inside, burning, burning, burning._

 

 

 

He wakes to the inexplicable scent of the ocean.

 

The smell of salt water wafts up his nose as Keith slowly blinks his eyes open. Groggy and disoriented, it takes him a minute to remember why everything is so gray. He raises his head slightly, starts to sit up, and - there’s an arm thrown over his waist. There’s also a body pressed against his side and a hand gripping his.

 

Keith manages not to freak, but only just. He holds his breath, carefully extracting his fingers from Lance’s death grip. Pries the arm off his torso and inches away. Lance shifts towards him slightly, murmuring something in his sleep. Keith sits up, makes a half-assed attempt to flatten his hair; it’s right then that the pain hits.

 

It’s his ankle first, a throbbing sort of pain that has his vision blurring,. It moves up to his torso, like a billion white-hot needles stabbing into his ribs, then up into a dull pang in his skull. All-in-all, the ache has him doubled over, movements slow, groaning weakly.

 

Lance sleeps through the whole affair.

 

Right up until Keith kicks him in the stomach with his good foot - not hard, of course, but strong enough that Lance jolts upright. “What the hell -” Lance’s eyes fly open and his head immediately swivels back and forth; he flings his good arm out and pats around frantically until Keith catches his wrist and holds it still. Lance relaxes quickly, says quietly, “Keith?”

 

“Here,” Keith replies, for the billionth time in the last twenty-four hours. He wraps an arm around his stomach, his breathing shallow, and says, “Feeling any better, Lance?”

 

“Aw, you _do_ care,” Lance says with a feigned innocence, ignores Keith’s scoff. “But no, not really. I actually have managed to feel worse, if anything.”

 

“Great.” Keith seems to have done the same thing, along with going from cold to hot overnight. He would blame it on proximity, if only Lance’s skin didn’t feel like ice. Instead, he figures the heat is just another thing about his powers, hopes it'll sort itself out eventually.

 

Lance pulls his wrist out of Keith’s grip momentarily, stretches, and then places his hand over Keith’s, saying, “Has anyone ever told you that you’re like a human space heater?”

 

“I - yes, actually.”

 

Lance’s surprise lasts for a total of five seconds before he gives a small, unsteady laugh. Keith smiles ever so slightly. “You can’t really talk, though, Lance, seeing as you’re like a Popsicle.”

 

“My body,” Lance tells him, “has horrible temperature regulation.”

 

And for some reason, due mostly to general hysteria, he’s sure, that has Keith snorting into his hand and trying to cover it up with a cough. Keith slips his hand out from under Lance’s, pushes to his knees, then struggles to stand, balancing precariously on one foot. The hand that he puts out to help Lance up hangs in the air for a moment before Keith remembers that Lance can’t actually see the offer. His hand drops back to his side.

 

Keith says, “We should start walking.”

 

Lance groans dramatically, but he moves his legs underneath him and rocks back on his heels, rises to his feet. As soon as he’s on his feet, he reaches out for Keith, catching his sleeve at the shoulder. “Where are we headed, then?”

 

“Ah…” Keith glances around, picks a direction at random. “This way.”

 

Lance follows along with no question and no snippy comment, for once, and Keith takes that as a win.

 

 

He takes it as a win for about forty-five minutes, right up until sweat starts dripping his eyes and his side feels like it’s actually _on fire_.

 

The suffocating heat has spread all through Keith’s body, burning even in the tips of his fingers and toes, but is mostly concentrated underneath the mess of bandages around his waist. His stomach twists - from hunger, fear, or pain, Keith isn't sure - and the only thing he can focus on properly is the tiny point of contact where Lance’s thumb brushes Keith’s collarbone, the cold emanating from his fingertip cutting through the warmth in this one spot.

 

Keith wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, wishing he had something to tie his hair up with. His clothes stick to his skin, his hair to the back of his neck, and yet, when he looks at Lance on his right, there’s no sign of him being anywhere near as feverish as Keith is.

 

His lack of focus ends up making him catch one foot against the other and lurch forward. He’s got a face full of space grass before he can even process what’s happening. Thankfully, Lance doesn’t fall with him this time, but Keith can hear him trying not to laugh above him.

 

He stays there, his ribs aching, for a minute, moves his arms under his chin and stares ahead. Lance is still laughing as he says, “Are you - are you okay?” Keith rubs blearily at his eyes and -

 

“Tree.”

 

“What?” Lance’s snickers slowly die out, and he squats down next to Keith, puts a hand on his shoulder.

 

“There’s a -” Keith squints, pushing up to his elbows, then raising up to his hands. “There’s a tree.”

 

Lance instinctively glances towards where Keith is looking, rolls his eyes seemingly at himself when he remembers. “You’ve gotta give me more than that, Keith. What exactly are we looking at?”

 

“It’s a _tree,_ Lance, what more do you want?”

 

Lance doesn’t respond, just stands back up and offers Keith a hand, eyes fixed somewhere on the horizon. Keith rolls on his side, the one that doesn’t still feel like he jumped directly into a volcano, takes Lance’s hand, and allows himself to be pulled to his feet. He lets Lance cling to his hand, still, starting towards the gray trunk jutting out of the ground. He can’t see the top of the tree, fog shrouding the area, but he can make out a branch breaking off from the trunk just under the fog. Definitely a tree.

 

The big question, though, is whether or not there’s food on this tree.

 

Keith is slowly beginning to realize that they could very well be stuck on this planet for…a while, and food is, in fact, a necessity. Hunger already gnaws at his stomach, and he knows they’re not going to last long without some sort of food supply. He’d even take Coran’s terrible cooking if it would get him and Lance through this.

 

He makes a beeline for the tree, tugging on Lance’s hand, and his gaze travels up the trunk and into the stupid fog. There’s no telling what’s at the top, or even where the damn top _is_. No way to gauge the distance from where Keith is standing to the possible food supply.

 

“Awesome,” Keith mutters, placing a hand on the trunk. He can feel a sort of energy thrumming somewhere deep within the tree, reminiscent of the way life pumped through the Balmera way back when. There are grooves in the trunk that Keith immediately deems handholds and footholds. “I’m gonna climb it.

 

“ _What?_ ” Lance tightens his grip on Keith’s hand and Keith can sense his nervousness. “That, buddy, sounds like a terrible plan.”

 

“But it’s a plan.”

 

“It - what - _barely!_ ”

 

“‘Barely’ is good enough for me,” Keith says, and starts climbing.

 

He’s only just lifted both feet off the ground when Lance starts talking. “Keith. Dude. Don’t you have a busted ankle? I mean, sure, you climbed up and down that cliff earlier, but this is different. I’ve fallen off trees before with _no_ injuries! On Earth. Like, on regular old Earth trees. This is a terrible idea, Keith.”

 

“What’s your point?” Keith shoots back, about four or five feet off the ground. It’s a surprisingly easy climb, at least in terms of having something to hold onto, though his ankle throbs and his chest is still tight. He moves his good foot, carefully searches for a higher groove, pulls himself upwards. He’s maybe seven feet above ground now, and he actually manages not to look down this time.

 

“I’m not catching you if you fall, you know,” Lance says from below him.

 

“That’d be fairly difficult for you, anyway, seeing as you wouldn’t be able to see where I’d be falling.” Only a little farther to the branch.

 

“That’s not the point. I’m not even going to _attempt_ to catch you.”

 

“Ah, so it’s about the principle of the matter.” Keith smirks to himself, makes a grab for the branch.

 

And it snaps.

 

He’s falling, yet again, before he can find a new course of action. There’s no slow-motion, no ‘life flashing before his eyes’ moment, just open air and the ground approaching much too fast.

 

Keith lands flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him. He can practically hear his ribs creak; his side burns like crazy and he’s starting to think that he really should listen to Lance, who’s at his side in an instant, more often.

 

And then his blood goes hot and fire courses through his veins and he stops thinking.

 

 

 

The pain is unbearable.

 

There’s no air in his lungs and he can’t speak, he can’t think, he can’t _breathe._ He feels like he’s dying, and maybe, just maybe, he’s okay with that.

 

Lance’s voice, fearful and panicked, floats around him. He can’t make out the words past the static in his ears, but just hearing him, knowing that Lance is with him in this is nice. Then there’s a hand at the base of his neck and another gripping his left wrist, and the stark contrast between his entire body and the two spots where Lance is touching him has him reeling, his already-shaky grip on reality going from bad to worse.

 

Keith hears what he thinks is his name and his eyes flutter briefly. He catches a glimpse of the distress on Lance’s face, but his awareness is fading fast. _That’s it_ , Keith thinks, eyes falling shut again, _I’ve had enough._

 

No sooner has the thought crossed his mind than Lance slips his fingers under Keith’s shirt and finds the cause of this incident.

 

Cold immediately begins to seep through Keith’s skin, settling deep in his bones. It’s a calm sort of feeling, like the first snow of winter, a flurry of iciness that flows out from Lance’s fingers. It pierces through the cloud of heat and pain, leaving Keith with a vague feeling of peace.

 

But it doesn’t last. Keith can actually _feel_ his own power fighting against Lance’s, the fire inside him pushing back against the ice Lance is trying to imbue in him. Keith is suddenly struck with a hazy image of a scale tipping back and forth, and he already knows which side is going to win.

 

The level of awareness that Keith has rises and falls in time with the internal battle. His hearing tunes in and out, and he catches certain words from Lance - Keith’s name, the word ‘please’ over and over, occasional strings of curses. Enough to see how badly Lance is freaking out.

 

It takes a lot of effort to say Lance’s name around the dryness in his throat, but he manages. It comes out weak and hoarse, but it shuts Lance up. Keith forces himself to open his eyes, notes the tear tracks on Lance’s cheeks and the puffy, bloodshot eyes. It hits him, right then, that he really has fucked up.

 

The hand under his shirt disappears, and Lance swipes furiously at his eyes, chokes out, “Yeah?”

 

Keith reaches out and twists his fingers into Lance’s shirt, searching for something to ground him. “ _Lance._ Calm -” he coughs roughly - “the fuck down.”

 

An affronted look crosses Lance’s face before he seems to realize that Keith is trying to help. He takes a deep breath and says, “I don’t - I can’t - _I don't know how to help you.”_

 

“Figure it out,” Keith grinds out, miraculously steady. “You - you’re smart, you’ll th-think of something.” He shifts, sitting up slightly, regrets it immediately. “W-what did Allura say your powers are - ow _fuck_ \- fueled by?”

 

He’s pretty sure there shouldn’t be two Lance’s, but Keith’s blurry vision has decided otherwise. “She -” Lance starts, stops. He runs his good hand down his face, sniffs loudly. “Peace. Balance. Serenity.”

 

The polar opposite of Keith’s. Where Lance’s ice is sustained by an inner calmness, Keith’s fire feeds off of strong emotions - anger, fear, pain. Not surprising.

 

“Right,” Keith says, digging his fingernails into his thigh. “Then find that - that balance, okay? Just breathe or - d-do your meditating shit or whatever y-you do to get your powers to work. _Figure it out.”_

 

Lance closes his eyes and does as he’s told. Inhales through his nose, exhales through his mouth. The cold radiating from him grows stronger with each breath, iciness spreading from where Lance’s hand still grips his wrist.

 

And then Lance is saying something, raising his other hand to Keith’s cheek. “Hey. Keith.” Keith hums. “Do you trust me?”

 

“Yes.” He doesn’t even stop to think about it. There’s no hesitation, no consideration, nothing. He does trust Lance. He’d trust Lance with his life.

 

Even when Lance is leaning towards him, running his thumb over Keith’s bottom lip, and kissing him.

 

It's close-mouthed and more of just a press of lips than a real kiss, but it gets Keith’s attention nonetheless. Lance’s lips are soft, as is the kiss itself, and Keith finds that his eyes are falling shut for a reason unbeknownst to him. But he lets it go, lets himself pretend that it doesn't matter, just for a second. He's not quite sure why he doesn't push Lance away, why he lets Lance hold him in place with no protest, no restraint. Or, for that matter, why he can't seem to think straight at all.

 

And then he feels it - Lance’s power, this charged sort of energy seeping into his very being, injecting itself directly into Keith’s bloodstream, pumping through his veins. Lance’s lips move against his, and Keith is drunk on the feeling, drunk on Lance.

 

Lance tastes of blood and salty tears and an odd sprinkle of cinnamon. It's the best thing Keith has ever tasted.

 

Their mouths slot together and Keith lets out a low whine, tilts his head, tugs Lance closer by his shirt. Lance practically falls into him, gasping into Keith’s mouth, and slides his hand down from Keith’s cheek to the back of his neck. Keith doesn't know if Lance is feeling the same thing that he is, but the way Lance kisses him, heated and desperate, makes him think that yes, he has to feel it, he has to _need_ this the way Keith does. Even though Keith can’t tell if his own desperation is built on more than just the balance of fire and ice.

 

_Fire and ice._

 

_Red and blue._

 

_Keith and Lance._

 

In the moment before Lance pulls away, where Lance is sucking lightly on Keith’s bottom lip and Keith is breathing in _Lance_ , Keith thinks he finally understands the phrase ' _opposites attract’_.

 

Then Lance does pull back and Keith feels the loss deep in the pit of his stomach.

 

Keith’s eyes open a few seconds later. He registers the faint pink blush across Lance’s cheekbones, the swollen lips, and his whole world comes to a screeching halt.

 

“Um,” he says. _Nice one, Keith._

 

Lance gives a short, uneasy laugh. “I, uh - I guess we’re even now, huh?”

 

It takes Keith a moment to catch on, but he gets it eventually. _I scratch your back, you scratch mine._ Leave it to Lance to turn _saving each other’s lives_ into a competition.

 

He slowly untangles his fingers from Lance’s shirt, and his thoughts take a sharp left turn, veering towards the stop sign known as Childhood Memories. For whatever reason, Keith finds himself remembering wise words from so long ago - from that night, on the balcony with _him_.

 

 _You can't just bury your problems under six feet of_ denial _, Keith._

 

They were drunk that night, mostly on each other, but Keith still recalls his response.

 

_Watch me, asshole._

 

As Keith makes a distracted attempt to count Lance’s freckles - _four, five, six -_ he realizes three things all at once.

 

1: He has a problem.

 

2: He is most likely -   _nine, ten, eleven -_ going to avoid it instead of trying to solve it.

 

3: He is - _fifteen, sixteen, seventeen_ \- completely and totally screwed.

  
He hears Lance say his name right before he blacks out, and his last thought is _twenty-one._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look at me, eARLY. i loved writing this chapter, to be honest, and i'm so glad i actually managed to get this fic to progress, thank GOD. also, i started school last week (second semester of dual-credit classes ayeee), so if the update schedule gets a little longer, i apologize in advance
> 
> hmu on [tumblr](https://pidgeotto-gunderson.tumblr.com/)
> 
> thanks for reading, comments, kudos, and con-crit are greatly appreciated <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm already sorry about spacing but i'm tired and i have to go to bed so any and all spacing issues will continue to exist, sorry
> 
> also thank you to my beta and number 1 motivator Carson, she's the best and i love her <3
> 
> update: i fixed the formatting 2 days later haha you're welcome

“What the _hell_ were you thinking?”

 

It’s the first thing he hears, waking up in a bed of waxy space grass for the second time. He’s seeing stars as he opens his eyes - there’s a long moment where Keith doesn’t know where he is, then he feels a hand, tight on his wrist, and his brain finally decides to work, albeit sluggishly.

 

“…what?” Keith mumbles, dazedly scrubbing at his eyes. “What’appened?”

 

He sits up, the world spinning around him, and he can still feel the chill settled in his bones. Lance’s face slowly comes into focus, a scowl contorting his features. Lance’s left eye twitches as he says, voice dangerously calm, “Why the _fuck_ would you tell me you were fine when you _so obviously weren’t?_ ”

 

Keith moves his free hand to his head, rubs his temples. Lance’s voice is too loud (even though his left ear is still buzzing); he feels hungover, like he’d had ten too many drinks the night before. Lance keeps talking, having seemingly _sensed_ that Keith was awake, and Keith isn’t sure if the volume is actually going up or if that’s just his headache getting worse.

 

“I specifically asked you if there were any potentially life-threatening injuries, but _no_ , of course the ever-so- _stubborn_ Keith insists on acting like he’s perfectly fine, even though he’s _literally burning up from the inside!_ I mean, what was even going through your head that made you think that was a good plan?” Lance is definitely yelling now, coupled with choppy and tight, but decidedly angry gestures with his bad hand, the one that’s not currently cutting off the circulation to Keith’s fingers. Keith has to make a conscious effort to keep up, as his brain is having a very hard time focusing on anything other than the pounding in his skull.

 

“And don’t give me that ‘I didn’t want to worry you’ bullshit, Keith, because if you didn’t want to worry me, you wouldn’t have _nearly died in my arms_ while I tried to figure out _what the ever-loving fuck was even happening!_ I don’t know if this is just you being a goddamn _idiot_ or if you just don’t feel pain or - or if you’re just so incapable of taking care of yourself that you - Jesus fucking _Christ,_ Keith, are you just so incapable of _accepting help_ that you’d rather wait ‘till you’re _literally_ _dying_ just so you don’t even have to bother asking for help?” Lance, who’s stood up and began pacing back and forth, has tears in his eyes, yet again, but this time it’s not fear or pain. There’s pure, undiluted anger in Lance’s face, in his eyes, in his words, and apparently Keith is _really_ _good_ at fucking up.

 

There’s a level of shock on Keith’s part - he’s never seen Lance yell, _really_ yell, before, not even at him, and it’s honestly a little scary. Keith has never been one for arguments or raised voices; his first instinct is to curl in on himself and away from Lance, but he still manages to keep a straight face. “I - sorry?”

 

“Is that a _question_?” Lance whirls on him and Keith is reminded of five years worth of foster homes. He scoots backwards. “Dammit, Keith, _you scared the hell out of me_.”

 

And Keith is _floored_.

 

Lance is seething, glaring at a spot by Keith’s shoulder, and Keith realizes that this is just…protectiveness? Fear? Whatever the base emotion is, this seems to be Lance’s twisted way of caring.

 

_He cares._

 

 _Well, fuck me,_ Keith thinks.

 

“Lance,” he says out loud. Lance ignores him, quite pointedly, and so Keith tries again. “Lance, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t realize how bad it was and -”

 

“Bullshit.”

 

Keith blinks. “I -”

 

“You didn't tell me because you're a stubborn idiot and you thought I couldn't handle it or -”

 

“ _What_?”

 

Lance stops abruptly, actually jerking to a halt in his pacing.. “You - what do you mean ‘what’?”

 

Keith stares at him, confusion overtaking his current sense of fight or flight. Lance’s face is red, all the way to the tips of his ears, and he’s breathing hard, but he’s stopped talking, for the moment. “I didn’t - where the hell did you get the idea that I thought you couldn’t handle it?”

 

“Oh, I dunno, maybe from the fact that you didn’t tell me?” Lance’s voice is an octave higher than usual.

 

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to worry you over something that I thought wasn’t a big deal -”

 

“Don’t give me that crap, Keith.” Lance glares hard in his direction, hands curled into fists at his side. “I know what you think of me, alright? I know what _all of you_ think of me. I know that you don’t think I can handle stuff and - and you all treat me like a fucking _child_ when _I’m on this goddamn team too!_ ”

 

Keith gapes. He’s struck totally speechless, watching the emotions flicker across Lance’s face. Anger fades, and Lance actually looks shocked at himself for a second, surprise flitting in his eyes, then sadness takes its place.

 

It’s quiet.

 

“Lance,” Keith says softly. “I - I didn’t realize.”

 

Lance literally _deflates_. He sits down, hard, on the ground, and closes his eyes, looking all too exhausted for Keith’s tastes. Keith realizes, then, just how terrified he actually is. For himself and for Lance.

 

Pulling his knees to his chest, Lance says, “I know.”

 

“…I’m sorry.”

 

“S’not your fault, really. You didn’t know.”

 

“I’m still sorry.”

 

Lance sniffs, wraps his arms around his legs. He opens his eyes and stares unseeingly off somewhere past Keith, resting his chin on his knees. Keith thinks he’s been missing something _really important_ all this time.

 

“You know,” Lance says, slow, quiet. His eyes are dry, now, but his voice is choked. “I thought you were hot, back at the Garrison.”

 

The relevance, Keith knows, is non-existent, but he lets it slide. Hazy images of the Garrison float through his head, vague memories of first flights and long-distance phone calls. And of the pretty boy with the nice smile.

 

He buries his surprise, focuses on keeping his voice steady, replies, “I remember you.”

 

“What?”

 

“When we rescued Shiro, I -” Keith licks his lips and he can still taste cinnamon. “I remembered you. I did - I _do_. I do remember you.”

 

Lance smiles ruefully, curling up tighter, and Keith could see his hands shaking from a mile away. He feels like he’s miles away. From what, he can’t decide.. There’s a long list - from home, from reality, from Lance (thing is, he’s always been miles away from Lance. It’s just only decided to bother him now). “God, that feels like so long ago. And so unimportant, now.”

 

“It’s not -” And Keith has never been good at this, this whole ‘talking about your feelings’ thing; it’s difficult and messy and really fucking annoying, in his opinion, but something has to give, here, and apparently, it’s not going to be Lance. “It’s important to me.”

 

“Is it?” Lance sounds resigned, not at all like Keith would’ve expected. “I mean…it used to bother me. I’ll admit that. But by now, with everything, it doesn’t seem to matter anymore.”

 

“But it _does_ ,” Keith insists, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “It does, Lance. Look, I - I know how it feels to - to be forgotten, and I - I didn’t - I don’t want -”

 

“Keith.” Lance reaches out and Keith has to move closer to catch Lance’s hand. “It’s okay.”

 

“It’s not,” Keith says.

 

“I forgive you,” Lance shoots back, and he’s only saying it because he knows it’s what Keith wants to hear. But Keith’s okay with that.

 

He can be okay with whatever this is.

 

There’s a moment where Keith wants nothing more than to pull Lance close and bury his nose in Lance’s hair and let the world - the universe - fade around them. He almost does, almost says _fuck it_ and gives in.

 

But the moment passes and Keith hears himself say, “You thought I was hot.”

 

Lance’s face flushes. “I thought you were a lot of things, Keith. But yes, ‘hot’ was one of them.”

 

Keith snickers a little, allows himself a minute to just grin to himself, knowing Lance can’t see him. He leans toward Lance, still craving the cold (still craving the closeness, still craving the feeling of Lance’s lips on his, still craving _Lance_ ), bites down hard on the inside of his cheek. He’s going insane, he thinks, out here with this boy, this annoying (brilliant), infuriating ( _amazing)_ boy. He’s losing his goddamn mind, obviously, because a sane Keith Kogane would never get anywhere near this point - not again, and definitely not with a teammate. As is, Keith is _massively_ fucked.

 

And then Lance is standing, still holding Keith’s hand, and saying, “Dance with me.”

 

“What?”

 

“Dance,” Lance repeats, a soft smile on his face, “with me.”

 

Keith stares at him for a moment. Bites his lip, rubs the back of his neck nervously. And relents.

 

Lance pulls him up and towards him, holding Keith by the waist, carefully maneuvering his bad arm. Keith puts all his weight on his good foot, hesitantly places his hands on Lance’s shoulders, making sure not to hurt him, and says, “There’s no music.”

 

Lance laughs lightly, tugs Keith closer. He leans forward, touches his forehead to Keith’s, and begins to hum. It’s soft and slow, a tune that feels familiar, though Keith doesn’t quite recognize it; they sway back and forth, slowly, and Keith knows that Lance is going to be the death of him. Fuck starvation, _this_ is going to kill him.

 

Keith can feel more than hear Lance as he starts singing.

 

_“All along, it was a fever,_

_A cold sweat, hot-headed believer.”_

 

Lance’s voice is warm and melodic, the words flowing like honey. His fingers brush the skin of Keith’s waist and Keith’s breath hitches.

 

_“I threw my hands in the air and said ‘show me something’._

_He said ‘if you dare, come a little closer’.”_

 

Keith’s brain finally catches up with reality and he thinks, _Rihanna. He’s singing fucking Rihanna._

 

_“Round and around and around and around we go,_

_  
_ _Oh now, tell me now, tell me now, tell me now you know.”_

 

Lance shifts, resting his chin on Keith’s shoulder, his lips moving against the hollow of Keith’s neck. Keith is _lost._

 

_“Not really sure how to feel about it."_

_Something in the way you move_

_Makes me feel like I can't live without you._

_It takes me all the way._

_I want you to stay.”_

 

Keith wraps one arm around Lance’s neck, hooks the other under Lance’s arm. He actually does bury his face in Lance’s shirt, now, and drinks it all in.

 

 _“It's not much of a life you're living._ _  
_

_It's not just something you take, it's given._

 

 _Round and around and around and around we go,_ _  
_

_Oh now, tell me now, tell me now, tell me now you know.”_

 

And he finds himself humming along, as Lance’s breath tickles his ear and all coherent thought flutters just out of reach.

 

 _“Not really sure how to feel about it._ _  
_

_Something in the way you move_

_Makes me feel like I can't live without you._

_It takes me all the way._

_I want you to stay.”_

 

Lance pulls back slightly; Keith thinks it’s over, for a split second, thinks the dream is ending - but no, Lance is still going, twirling Keith around by the hand. Keith nearly stumbles on his ankle, but Lance keeps him upright, pulling him back in and whispering, “Sing.”

 

If this were anyone else, anyone at all, Keith would say _no fucking way_ and that’d be the end of it. Then again, if this were anyone else, he wouldn’t be slow-dancing to goddamn _Rihanna_ on a deserted planet in the first place.

 

So he sings.

 

 _“Ooh, ooh, ooh, the reason I hold on,_ _  
_

_Ooh, ooh, ooh, 'cause I need this hole gone..”_

 

He hates his voice. Always has, really, despite being told, mostly by Shiro, that he sounds nice, he sounds fine. But seeing the way Lance’s face _lights up_ is so totally worth it.

 

 _“Funny you're the broken one, but I'm the only one who needed saving,_ _  
_

_'Cause when you never see the light it's hard to know which one of us is caving.”_

 

They ring true, somehow, the words. Thing is, Keith isn’t sure if he wants to be saved.

 

 _“Not really sure how to feel about it._ _  
_

_Something in the way you move_

_Makes me feel like I can't live without you._

_Yeah, it takes me all the way._

_I want you to stay, stay._

 

_I want you to stay.”_

 

Lance whispers the last line in Keith’s ear, spoken instead of sung. Keith shivers, shuts his eyes, revels in the fact that they’re still pressed together, even after the song has ended, even after they’ve stopped swaying.

 

Lance says, “What did you mean, when you said you knew what it was like to be forgotten?”

 

And Keith pulls away.

 

In a split second, every wall he’s ever constructed, every barrier he’s put up between himself and his past, between himself and others, shoots up again. He pulls away in more ways than one - physically, stepping back from Lance, hands dropping to his sides, but also mentally, yanking himself out of the fantasy he’s built around them.

 

“Keith?”

 

“I -” Keith takes another step back without thinking, hisses when he puts weight on his bad foot. Lance immediately moves towards him, asking if he’s okay, and Keith says quickly, “I’m fine, Lance, I’m fine.”

 

“But -”

 

“I’m _fine_.” He feels bad, he does, when he sees the hurt cross Lance’s face, but he ignores it. “Just don’t - I don’t wanna talk about - about -”

 

“Keith, what are you -”

 

Lance reaches for him and suddenly the world pitches left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all your comments and kudos, i love you guys <3 <3
> 
> hmu on [tumblr](https://pidgeotto-gunderson.tumblr.com/)
> 
> also if my scheduling goes weird, it's due to aLL THE CRAP I HAVE GOING ON (classes + homework, my season 2 [fix-it series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/636830) , and writing my fic for the first annual voltron big bang. i'm kinda swamped, whoops)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen it's late here and i'm tired and lazy but i really wanted to get this out on time so ill worry about formatting and editing tomorrow

Being trapped is nothing new to Keith.

 

At only seventeen, he’s spent way too much of his life trying to climb out of the holes other people have dug for him - and the ones he’s accidentally dug for himself.

 

The only difference between then (then: _the fire,_ then: _the system,_ then: _him_ ) and now (now: _falling apart,_ now: _falling in love_ ) is that Keith’s previous version of _trapped_ usually didn’t involve actual handcuffs.

 

The cuffs have already cut into his bare wrists, which have been chained together behind his back, by the time Keith wakes, purpling bruises forming under silver metal. Propped up against a cold wall, Keith looks around the room, taking it all in quickly.

 

He’s alone. It’s the first thing he notices. The second is that the room isn’t just a room.

 

He’s sitting in a jail cell.

 

It's small, with three walls of stone and a fourth made of vertical metal bars, along with a door on the right. There's nothing inside. It's just twelve feet by twelve feet of empty space.

 

 _It never ends,_ Keith thinks. His head aches even worse than before, as if someone had taken a lead pipe to his skull. Everything hurts and he can barely even think over the pain. He leans forward, bringing his knees to his chest, and just stays there for a minute. There’s a burning sort of feeling in his chest. He feels floaty. Like part of him is here and part of him is watching from a safe distance. It’s not the first time he’s been like this, but he doesn’t like it any more than the other instances.

 

(There’s two specifics incident that he hates to think about, which comes to mind now: 1) sitting in a church pew, dressed in all black, watching some man he doesn’t know talk about how wonderful their parents were. Shiro’s hand is clutched in his. He can’t feel a thing. 2) standing in an empty hallway in the Garrison, his phone pressed to his ear, and listening to his ~~friend~~ ~~confidant~~   ~~boyfriend~~  savior tell him that “I can’t do this anymore, Keith, it’s too much -”. He thinks, _If it’s too much for you, then where the hell do I draw the line?_ He never finds out.)

 

The part of him that is here doesn’t seem to be breathing right. Doesn’t seem to understand that breathing is fucking _important._ Doesn’t seem to comprehend the fact that _not breathing_ is _not helpful._

 

The anxiety that’s been building up over the course of this whole ordeal is reaching a peak. He’s panicking, and he knows it. He just doesn’t know how to stop it.

 

His thoughts are simultaneously too slow and too fast, but they’re incomprehensible either way. His entire head is just an itemized list of all the bad things that have happened since he crashed on this miserable planet, except someone put the itemized list in a blender and hit puree. This whole experience has dug up way too many old memories, too, which have just been added to the jumble of half-formed thoughts and messy, terrifying feelings.

 

_Hyperventilation (noun) - a condition in which you suddenly start to breathe very quickly, most commonly resulting from anxiety, panic, nervousness, or stress._

 

_Anxiety (noun) - a feeling of worry, nervousness, or unease, typically about an imminent event or something with an uncertain outcome._

 

_Panic attack (noun) - a sudden feeling of acute and disabling anxiety._

 

Keith recalls, suddenly, something his mother - his mother before the fire - used to say (he can’t remember much about her, but certain things…stuck with him): _God won’t give you more than you can handle, sweetheart._ He can’t imagine what shitty God thinks he can handle this.

 

Fading. That’s what this feels like. It’s like he’s fading into nothingness - no, not nothing. Something. But it’s something he doesn’t want to be.

 

He’s never really wanted to be Keith either, though.

 

There's something about being locked in a jail cell on a mysterious alien planet without food or water that really makes someone think.

 

But he doesn't want to think, and he doesn't want to feel, and he doesn't want to _be_ anymore. He wants the rest of him to join that one piece that's floated off somewhere, so he can just stop. He wants to stop. He wants everything to stop.

 

(Especially the gnawing in his stomach. Especially the burning in his lungs. Especially the quickness of his breathing. Especially the constant pang in his chest that has nothing to do with physical injuries. Especially the perpetual imbalance of heaviness and weightlessness that his existence has spun into.)

 

The overwhelming urge to run claws at his insides, but he can't, he can't run because he's chained up. And anyway, he has nowhere to go (that never seemed to matter until now).

 

Besides, it's not just him this time - there’s Lance to think about. Keith can't leave without Lance. Can't or won't? Is there a difference?

 

It doesn't matter - whether he _can't_ or he _won't_ leave Lance, the outcome is still the same. Outcome. Keith likes that word. It sounds logical, in a way, almost as if it's predictable with just an equation or statistics. He likes equations, too, because they're the same everywhere. Because he doesn't have to think about outside factors or - or internal ones. It's just numbers that fit together to create a solution.

 

In math, he can predict an outcome. Probability.

 

In reality, he couldn't have predicted any of this.

 

He wishes he could've, even just so he could've planned better. Been more prepared.

 

But here he is, falling asleep to the rhythm of his own heartbeat, and to the rhythm of a drum he can only hear in his head.

 

“Hey, you!”

 

Keith’s eyes fly open and he automatically scrambles as far away from the voice as the handcuffs will let him. All this does, though, is cause the ache in his head to worsen and his still-empty stomach to flutter in protest. It takes him a minute to remember where he is, but when he does, he doesn’t feel any better.

 

There’s someone - a girl, Keith thinks, but he could be wrong - standing in what looks to be a sort of prison guard uniform, just behind the bars of the cell. Her skin is chalky gray, her eyes multicolored - blue and green, blending like the ocean (it reminds him of Lance). She’s short, almost as short as Pidge, with her head shaved on one side and short blonde hair on the other, and in no way menacing enough to be a prison guard.

 

She peers at him, like she’s sizing him up. Her eyes skim over the bandage on his ankle and she certainly notices the pained way he moves. She seems to decide that he’s not a threat, leans against the bars, and says, “What happened to you, Red?”

 

Keith spits blood to the side before looking over at her, two frazzled nerves past pissed off. There’s a second where Keith considers his options (though there aren’t many), wonders if he can somehow get the keys off her through the bars, decides against just ignoring her. “What, do they just not tell you anything around here?”

 

The guard, Ocean, as Keith has begun to call her in his head, rolls her eyes. “They tell me plenty. I wish to hear it from you.” Her speech is simultaneously casual and stiff, the tone relaxed, but the words formal.

 

Keith scoffs. He may be in chains, but he doesn’t exist to entertain the people who put him in chains. He tells Ocean exactly that.

 

She actually laughs, her head falling forward, her hair cascading in front of her face. “Oh, you are a funny one, are you? What did you even do to end up in prison?”

 

“Nothing,” Keith answers. He figures not talking isn’t going to help, so he’ll go along with the conversation until opportunity presents itself.

 

Furrowing her brow, - as best she can, at least, seeing as she doesn’t actually have eyebrows - Ocean asks, “Then why are you in jail?” She sounds just as distrustful of Keith as Keith is of her. Or maybe that’s confusion and Keith is just mistaken.

 

Either way, Keith wants out of this damn cell. “No idea.” The words are bitter. He wouldn’t believe it, if he were on the other side of the bars, but apparently something about the way he says it rings true to the guard. She purses her lips and says, “Wait right here.”

 

As she walks off, Keith yells after her, “Like I could fucking go anywhere!”

 

He can hear her laughing at him as she goes.

 

It's maybe ten minutes before the cell door creaks open and Ocean steps inside, closing the door lightly behind her.

 

“Am I free to go?” The words are out of Keith’s mouth before he knows it. Ocean’s expression is somewhere between amused and irritated.

 

“Not exactly,” she replies. Keith is about to ask what the hell she means when she continues, “You are not _free_ , per say, not according to the emperor, but _I_ am letting you go.”

 

Keith stares at her, blinks twice, and bypasses the _what_ and the _how_ and goes straight for “ _Why?_ ”

 

Ocean shrugs, totally nonchalant. “You did not do anything,” she says, “so there is no good reason to keep you here.:”

 

“Won’t you get in trouble for letting me go?”

  
  
“Perhaps,” Ocean says, shrugging. Keith wonders if this isn’t a first for her. “If I do, however, my punishment will not be nearly as bad as yours would.” She walks toward him, reaching for something on her hip. For a split second, Keith thinks it’s a weapon, but then she pulls a key from a pouch on her hip, kneels next to him, and pops the lock on his cuffs. They clatter to the floor behind him, and Keith rubs gingerly at the bruises on his wrists. “Thanks,” he says hoarsely, one hand going to his head and the other pushing him up to his feet.

 

Ocean doesn’t respond, just grabs his sleeve and pulls him through the doorway. Keith doesn’t resist. She turns to face him, then, and starts talking. “It will be some time before the emperor discovers that you are gone. If you go that way -” she points down a dark corridor behind her - “you should be capable of finding your way out. Be quiet and be cautious.

 

Keith opens his mouth, closes it again, says, “Who are you?”

 

She sighs. “We do not have time for proper introductions, but my name is Verena and I am part of a group that works to save ones who are wrongfully imprisoned. I have been doing this for a long time, Red. Do not worry about me being punished for this.”

 

He nods in approval, regrets it immediately, settles for giving her, Verena, a pained smile and his name.

 

“There’s someone else here, my -” _Teammate, friend, lover._ None of it feels right - “partner. They brought in another human, right? Do you know where he is?”

 

“They did, yes. He is down that way, I believe,” Verena says, pointing behind Keith (the opposite way of the exit, of course). Keith swivels around and is about to go when Verena takes hold of his arm again. He glances back over his shoulder at her. “You may not want to go looking for your partner, Red.” She doesn’t bother calling him by his actual name.

 

Keith narrows his eyes. _Not an option_ . “And why the hell not?”

 

“The last I heard of this other human,” she responds, calmly, but somewhere near apologetic, “the emperor had taken a liking to him.”

 

Keith doesn’t like where this is going. There are knots in his stomach that won’t unravel. “So what?” he asks, not wanting to hear the answer.

 

He hears it anyway, unfortunately. “The ones the emperor likes do not usually last long.” Verena definitely sound sorry now. “He tires of them or they tire of their new lives. Either way, they end up -”

 

“Stop,” Keith cuts her off, the knots tightening. He tries to picture Lance being stuck here, being so _destroyed_ that he would - _Stop it,_ he tells himself, too. This isn’t what he needs. This isn’t where his head needs to be. He has a mission. “I don’t want to hear this.”

 

“Fine,” Verena says, releasing his arm. “I suppose I cannot stop you from searching. But be warned, Red. The emperor will not be an easy opponent, and saving your partner will not be an easy task.”

 

Keith tries his best to smirk. “Life isn’t easy. I’ve faced a lot of difficult tasks, Verena. That’s not going to stop me from saving him.”

 

He sticks a hand out in front of him. Verena glances from his face to his hand and back, looking confused. Keith laughs a little and nods pointedly at his hand, and Verena slowly reaches out and takes it. “Thank you,” Keith says, and means it. “Thank you for saving me.”

 

Verena smiles and, just before Keith walks away, she says, “What is the name?”

 

He doesn’t understand the question, and it’s obvious, Keith thinks. Obvious enough that Verena clarifies: “What is the name of this boy you care enough to risk your own life for? What is the name of the boy you love?”

 

Keith sees him, then, in the back of his mind. Sees his face, his eyes, his hands. Remembers the feeling of his lips on Keith’s, remembers the feeling of his fingers tangled in Keith’s, remembers the feeling in Keith’s own chest when he smiled. And he knows. And he tells her.

 

“Lance,” he says. “His name is Lance McClain.”

 

 

 

Keith finds Lance in another cell, one prison break, two dead ends, and a whopping six wrong turns later. His sheer frustration is near record-high by the time he spots Lance at the end of a corridor, half-conscious, with dried blood crusted on the side of his face.

 

Lance’s head shoots up when Keith yells his name, running down the hallway towards him. He glances around blindly before saying, skeptical and bleary, “Keith? S’that you?” Keith skids to a stop just before slamming into the bars of the cell. This one has no entrance on Keith’s side; instead, the door is on the opposite side of the cell, which is just fucking typical.

 

“It’s me, yeah.” It comes out choked, Keith’s words catching in his throat. “Are you - are you okay? You’re - you’re okay, right? Please tell me you’re okay, Lance.”

 

Lance laughs, tinny and strained. “I”m okay, Keith, promise. Get me out of here, though?”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, of course, just -” Options, options. There’s no way in from this end of the cell, but he doesn’t know how to get to the other side and doesn’t want to leave Lance here alone. Keith grips the bars tight. “Just let me figure out how to - how to - _fuck_ , I don’t know -”

 

“Keith,” Lance cuts him off. He struggles to his feet - Keith notices, then, that his jacket is missing from Lance’s arm and his ire grows - and sways his way over to Keith. He runs his good hand along the bars until his fingers meet Keith’s and Keith feels…something, nothing, everything. “Calm down. You’ll figure it out.”

 

He’s saying exactly what Keith said, however long ago. When Lance - wait. The bars are metal. Metal burns.

 

“Move your hand,” Keith says. Lance doesn’t question him, pulling his hand away and stepping back. Keith closes his eyes and pictures a volcano, bubbling up like the anger in his stomach. He’s pissed, _insanely_ pissed, but above all, he’s _scared._ And really, that’s something he would never have admitted a year ago, or even six months ago. But now…now he’s honestly _terrified,_ and he lets that bleed out, all the way up to his fingertips.

 

 _Control._ Keith puts everything he has into controlling the flames. The fire fuels itself with his emotions, but he knows, from experience, that he can’t let it get out of check.

 

The bars melt, albeit slowly, under his hands. Lance stays quiet from inside the cell, as the scent of smoke fills the air.

  
It takes a total of maybe four minutes before Keith can step into the cell and throw his arms around Lance’s neck.

 

Lance stumbles back, partly due to surprise, partly to unsteadiness. He wraps his arms around Keith’s waist in return, despite the odd angle his bad arm is still bent at, laughing with hysterical relief, lifting Keith clean off the ground, and spinning him around and around.

 

(And Keith is flying and Keith is falling.)

 

Lance sets him down gently, but doesn’t let go. Keith doesn’t either (he could stay here, in Lance’s arms, for the rest of his life and be completely content).

 

But the moment is ruined.

 

The voice sounds from all around them, bouncing and echoing off the walls. Keith leans away from Lance to look around the room, searching for the source, feeling Lance flinch at the noise.

 

“ _What’s this? One of you pesky little humans escaped? Oh, and of course you came for the other…how cute. Humans are so adorable.”_

 

Lance’s hand moves to grip Keith’s. Keith rubs his thumb over Lance’s knuckles, whispers, “We need to get out of here.”

 

 _“Oh, no, you don’t.”_ Keith should’ve known it wouldn’t be this easy. He feels sick to his stomach. “ _If you two are going to trespass on my kingdom, then I require compensation.”_

 

Lance starts to say, “What sort of -”

 

“ _Whatever sort of compensation I am in the mood for. But,”_ the voice says over him, “ _ince I am feeling rather generous today…I will allow one of you to leave, as I'm quite impressed with your would-be prison break.”_

 

Keith already knows.

 

“ _Which one shall it be?”_

 

It's quiet. Lance’s grip on Keith’s hand has gotten tighter and tighter. His teeth are grinding.

 

“Lance,” Keith says.

 

“No.” Lance shakes his head adamantly. His face is pale - from blood loss again, surely - and caked with dirt and grime. Keith thinks, absurdly, that this is the first and only time he’s seen Lance look anything less than perfect. Perfect by society’s standards, at least. He's always perfect to Keith. “Absolutely not, Keith.”

 

Keith sighs, slides his fingers between Lance’s, holds their joined hands up between them. “I have to go, Lance.”

 

“No, you don’t,” Lance whispers, leaning in close enough that Keith can feel his breath. “Please, Keith, think this through.”

  
“I _have._ Lance, I have thought this through. One of us has to go, and it makes more sense for me to do it, since I’ve somehow managed to be the more able-bodied of the two of us.”

 

Lance brushes his nose against Keith’s neck, presses his mouth to Keith’s collarbone, soft and sweet. It’s the sort of moment that Keith wants to hold onto, the kind of moment he wishes would never end. It’s the sort of _feeling_ he wishes would never go away. “Keith. Please. We can figure something else out.”

 

Keith moves his free hand to the back of Lance’s head, tangles his fingers in the hair at the base of his neck. He gives himself a minute to just map out Lance’s face, memorize the color of his eyes, the curve of his nose, the laugh lines at the corners of his mouth. The curl of his eyelashes, the creases in his lips. Everything.

 

He runs his thumb along Lance’s jawline, leans in, kisses Lance’s cheek. Lingers. Steps away and drops Lance’s hand.

 

“I want you to go, okay?” He backs away, slowly, wanting nothing more than to stay. “Please just get out of here. Go. Stay safe.”

 

“Keith -”

 

“I can do this,” Keith says, his voice taking a turn towards pleading. “I can, Lance, just as long as I know you’re safe.”

 

He doesn't wait for a response. Keith turns and starts toward the door. Makes it two steps before Lance says, “Keith, wait,” and grabs for his hand.

 

Lance misses his hand, but catches the hem of Keith’s shirt instead, yanks him back around, and crashes their lips together.

 

 _This must be what heaven is like_.

 

It's sloppy and wet and slightly off-center, but it’s Lance and that's all that matters.

 

Keith raises up to his tiptoes, wraps one arm around Lance’s neck, slips his other hand under Lance’s shirt. Lance’s left hand settles on Keith's arm, fingers splaying out along his bicep, his right resting carefully on Keith’s hip.

 

Keith presses as close as possible, slides his leg between Lance’s, and finally lets himself feel.

 

It lasts around a minute. Keith is just pushing his fingers higher up Lance’s shirt when Lance jerks back. Panic flits across his face; for a split second, Keith thinks he's done something wrong. But then Lance says, “I'm not going to leave you,” and Keith just wishes Lance would stop making this harder than it already is.

 

“You have to.”

 

“No, I - I don't. And I won't! I'm not going to fucking leave you here alone, Keith!”

 

He's crying, again, tears dripping down his cheeks. Keith wants nothing more than for Lance to never have anything to cry over again.

 

He hates this, the fact that everything’s so fucked up, the fact that Lance is crying for the fourth time in the hours that they've been on this planet. He hates Lance, in a way, hates that all he wants is to be closer to him, all he wants is for Lance to be okay. He's lived seventeen years worth of a life built on loneliness and self-preservation, and Lance has somehow managed to tear it all down in the span of three days. Give or take.

 

But he doesn't hate Lance, not really. He never has - never could. Never wanted to. He hates, instead, the idea of Lance - or rather, the idea of giving himself to someone who would then have all the power in the world over him.

 

It's his abandonment issues talking. Keith tells them to shut the fuck up.

 

“Lance, please,” Keith says aloud. He’s willing to plead, for this, for Lance. “You have to go. Find a way out of here. I’m sure the others are looking for us, they'll find you soon.”

 

“I won't -”

 

“I'll get out of here, too, okay?” Keith tells him, even though he still can't predict jack-shit. “I’ll find my way back to you.”

 

Lance’s body shakes with suppressed sobs. “Keith, I - “

 

“It's okay,” he whispers. Keith kisses him, one last time, and takes a step back. And another. And another.

 

He reaches the door all too soon. Lance’s eyes, full of sadness and anger and pain, too much pain, are fixed straight ahead. Keith can't say the words he wants to say. It would hurt too much.

  
So instead he says again, “I’ll find my way back to you,” and goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jeeeeeeesus i'm tired. yeah so like always, thank you for the kudos and comments, i love you guys
> 
> ALSO, i have an announcement!! my best friend/beta/actual motivation in life Carson (here's her [ao3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/gayobsessedfangirl13/pseuds/gayobsessedfangirl13) and her [tumblr](http://gayobsessedfangirl13.tumblr.com/) , check her out) and i are planning a sEQUEL to this, ahhhhhhh. i can't tell you what it's about yet, no hints or anything, but it'll be based on something that i have planned for chapter 8, along with a headcanon of Carson's, so i'll get into it more in the notes of chapter 8. but yeah, that's happening, so i'm real excited about that
> 
> hmu on [tumblr](https://pidgeotto-gunderson.tumblr.com/)


	7. NOT A CHAPTER, JUST AN UPDATE

For those of you who didn't know, I AM, in fact, alive.

 

I know it's been months since I've posted a chapter and I'm really sorry to keep you all waiting - especially with the cliffhanger I left you guys on - but I do have good reason: I've spent the last few months working on my fic for this year's Voltron General Big Bang, which you can read [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11777142/chapters/26553828). It's 50,000 words and I've been slaving over it since like February so that's why I've been otherwise dead on here. 

 

So, to everyone who's still following this fic and waiting for the next chapter, THIS FIC IS NOT ABANDONED. For the sake of deadlines (and my own mental health), I put this fic on hiatus over the course of the Big Bang so I could focus on my work for that. I apologize for the wait and for not giving you guys more of an update on this BEFORE the hiatus, but I will be continuing this fic, now that the Bang is over.

 

I think what I want to do, since it's been like 8 months since this fic started and I've grown a lot more than you might think as a writer since then, is rewrite the previous chapters of this fic, write chapter 7, and post it all at once. I'm not going to delete this fic and start all over or anything, I'll just be editing earlier chapters and going from there. As of now, I can't say whether it'll be completely necessary to reread the edited chapters but there will definitely be added scenes and such, so you'll probably want to go back over them before continuing. The place where we left off in chapter 6 will be the same, though.

 

TL;DR: this fic is not abandoned, and I will be editing previous chapters + posting the new chapter fairly soon, hopefully within the next month. Thank you guys for being patient with me, and please do read the [fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11777142/chapters/26553828) that's dragged my attention away from this one for so long. See you with a new chapter soon!!


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